


I Keep Remembering Me (I Keep Remembering You)

by Dancains



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: He looked pained that Oswald couldn't remember even that. "Edward. You call me Ed."Oswald nodded. It was a surprisingly simple name, not what he would have guessed. "And how are we...what I mean to say is..." He licked his lips, which were still painfully dry. "Are you my partner?"Ed let out a breath, possibly in relief. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I mean, not officially, not on paper. Publicly, I workforyou." He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought."Oh," was all Oswald could manage. He couldn't remember a single moment that they had spent together outside the hospital room, but it sounded right enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I've been kicking around for a while, I have a soft spot for the classic amneisa trope--obviously this is "Hollywood amnesia" and I don't claim to be presenting any medical accuracy. Also yet another "Ed never met Isabella and Oswald is still mayor AU".
> 
> Fic title from the song Déjà Vu by Dionne Warwick.

Oswald woke up in a hospital bed, with an IV piercing his arm and an unfamiliar man sleeping in a chair beside him.

 He hadn't meant to wake him, but Oswald's hoarse, involuntary yelp of alarm violently startled him from slumber, and the man's glasses almost slipped from his thin nose as he jerked forward.

 "Oswald! Oh my god..." His throat sounded nearly as dry as Oswald's felt. With one hand, he took a hold of Oswald's where it had been lying on the covers and squeezed it tightly, and with the other he insistently pressed a nearby button on the wall, presumably to summon a doctor.

 "God, Oswald, you had me so worried. You've been out for three days. They weren't even sure if you were going to..." He looked as if he didn't want to finish the sentence. 

Oswald had tensed in surprise at his touch, his fight or flight instinct nearly going into effect. He took in the dark circles under his eyes and the deep creases in what otherwise looked like an expensive shirt, and wondered how long the man had been sleeping here.

 He looked down at their linked hands, then back up again. "I'm sorry, but...who are you, exactly?"

 Horror came over the man's face. "Oswald, you'd better be joking. You have no idea what I've gone through the past few days."

 Oswald just stared blankly at him. Anything either of them could have said was abated when a doctor and nurse bustled into the room and were soon hovering around Oswald, examining him and peppering him with questions. With each of his answers, the expression of his bedside companion grew increasingly grave. 

 He barely listened as the doctor gave her final diagnosis, mostly speaking to the man with the glasses, whom she addressed as Mr. Nygma. "Short term memory loss" was all Oswald had to hear, along with something about an accident, the details of it which he couldn't recall.

 "...Could be a matter of days, or weeks, or even years until he fully recovers all of his memories..." She said, as Oswald's strained attention drifted in and out. He didn't feel like he'd been unconscious for three days. If anything, he felt exhausted--and hungry. He wondered if someone was going to bring him one of those little cups of gelatin. He vaguely remembered eating something like that at a hospital once, at least. 

 As if reading his thoughts, the nurse handed him a glass of water, and Oswald eagerly gulped it down. He noticed that there were three different vases of flowers in the room, bright shots of color in the beige-gray space. Had the man with the glasses brought them?

 "Mr. Cobblepot," the doctor addressed him. That sounded familiar too. Apparently, it was his last name. He peeled his eyes away from Nygma, who he had been distractedly watching, and tried to focus on what she had to say.

 "I'm going to release you into Mr. Nygma's care now, if that's alright. There's not much more we can do for you here--at this point, the best thing you can try to do is resettle into your regular routine and see what memories are triggered. Within the week someone will be sent to your residence to check in on your progress."

 Oswald nodded. The nurse had filled his glass again, so he took another long sip from it.

 She turned to Nygma. "We'll give you a moment alone now. As you know, his clothes and personal effects that he came with are in that cupboard. If you need anything, here's my direct number."

 "Thank you, Dr. Owen. I greatly appreciate everything you've done for him."

 She handed him a business card before her and the nurse left the room. They were left in an uncomfortable silence.

 "You must...have a lot of questions." The man said carefully.

 Oswald thought about the fingers entwined with his own, and how they were reluctantly drawn away when the doctor had entered. Despite the strange circumstances, there was something oddly warm and pleasant about having this man's entire focus on him, like it was now, when it probably should have been unnerving. Oswald privately decided that he was rather handsome.

 "Let's start small, I suppose. What's your name? Your first name," Oswald requested.

 The man swallowed. He looked pained that Oswald couldn't remember even that. "Edward. You call me Ed."

 Oswald nodded. It was a surprisingly simple name, not what he would have guessed. "And how are we...what I mean to say is..." He licked his lips, which were still painfully dry. "Are you my partner?"

 Ed let out a breath, possibly in relief. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I mean, not officially, not on paper. Publicly, I work  _for_ you." He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.

"Oh," was all Oswald could manage. He couldn't remember a single moment that they had spent together outside the hospital room, but it sounded right enough. If a woman had told him the same thing, Oswald suspected that he wouldn't have believed her. He supposed amnesia didn't change the fact that you were gay.

 He decided he would ask about his job later, or if they had possibly met through their work. Instead he asked, "Where are we going to go when we leave?" He hated hospitals, he knew that at least.

 "Home," said Ed, reassuringly.

 " _Our_ home?" It sounded like they were discrete about their relationship, did he and Ed live together?

 "Our home. The home in which we both live, yes."

 Oswald thought that sounded nice. He told Ed that.

 Ed smiled. It was the first time Oswald had seen it, and he marveled at how it lit up his entire face. Oswald noticed he had very kind looking eyes. 

 "It is nice. Very nice. You inherited the property from your father, it's a little ways out of the city. I was completely blown away when you invited me to live with you."

 Oswald nodded. He was proud of himself for apparently initiating that step in their relationship.

 "My father? Does he know that I've...been injured?"

 Ed pursed his lips. "He passed away, some time ago. I never met him, but you always spoke very highly of him, said he was a kind-hearted man."

 Oswald wasn't sure how he supposed to mourn for a father he couldn't remember, but the news made him a little sad all the same. He wanted to ask more about his family, but he knew there would be time for that later. The fact that Ed was the only one at the hospital, and that he hadn't called anyone about Oswald waking up, made him suspect that there weren't many people who were close to him. Maybe they disapproved of his relationship with Ed. Or maybe there wasn't anyone else to disapprove. 

 "Could I get dressed?" Oswald ventured, "Maybe that might, um, jog some of those memories."

 "Of course." Ed all but bolted out of his chair, and started collecting clothes from a cupboard on the opposite wall of the room.

 "You're tall," Oswald observed. It came out more flirtatious than he had intended.

 Ed chuckled in surprise, a low, pleasant sound. "Thank you, I suppose. Not that I had much to do with it."

 He pulled out a three piece suit and laid each garment carefully over the chair he'd been sitting in. The other items (personal effects, Oswald assumed) he set on the bedside table--a wallet, a thin, silver cigarette case, an ornate lighter, a pocket watch, and a pair of gloves.

 Oswald examined each of them as Ed fussed with the creases in the suit, and set a walking cane up against the chair. Inside the wallet were quite a few bills in high denominations, three credit cards, and an outdated driver's license with a decidedly unflattering head shot. The leather gloves fit perfectly when he tried them on; he tugged them off and set them back on the table after flexing his fingers in the supple leather.

 "I smoke?" he asked Ed.

 "It's a habit of yours that I've been trying to encourage you to break."

 "Ah." Somehow the muscle memory remained, and the mention of a cigarette sounded decidedly enticing. It was for Ed's sake that he refrained, and, less so, the fact that they were in a hospital.

 He tried to push himself out of bed, but his right ankle suddenly throbbed in protest. "My leg," he murmured under his breath, confused and pained. Ed was immediately at his side, wrapping an arm around him in support.

 "Your ankle was already injured, before the accident. I wouldn't be surprised if this period of inactivity has weakened the muscle even more, that's why I had your cane brought from home. I know you really don't enjoy it, but I think we should make an appointment with your physical therapist some time in the next few days."

 Oswald was too distracted to properly respond. Gradually, Ed helped him to his feet; he felt stronger than Oswald might have assumed.

 "I think I still have some papers to sign before we get out of here," said Ed, as Oswald began pulling on the dark trousers underneath his hospital gown. At least he was already wearing underwear that he assumed were his own.

 "Can it wait? I think I need help with this." He still had a steadying hand on Ed's shoulder as he tugged the pants on all the way, but didn't fasten the front.

 "Oh. Of course."

 Ed gestured for him to sit back on the bed, and helped pull the hospital gown up and over his head. Oswald felt a pang of self consciousness, but then remembered Ed had probably already seen him undressed many times before.

 His eyes snaked up Ed's lean, attractive form as he bent over to retrieve Oswald's dress shirt. They had probably had sex too, Oswald realized, the revelation practically bringing his mind to a halt. The thought was simultaneously arousing and frustrating, because he couldn't even remember it happening.

 If the way that Ed methodically helped him pull on the shirt, and buttoned it for him was any indicator, he was quite comfortable touching Oswald. He decided that Ed had probably been very gentle with him--the sort of sweet, tender love making from bygone romance novels that Oswald somehow knew he had fantasized about before. 

 Ed finished with his shirt and waistcoat, and knelt in front of him to help with his socks and shoes. Oswald felt a heat come to his face, and tried to steer his mind in another direction.

 "I'm not sure if it feels familiar, per se, but I certainly like the suit. It definitely fits."

"Well, you have quite the eye for tailoring." He pulled on his own suit jacket, after he had helped Oswald with his, and tightened the necktie that had been hanging loosely at his neck. "You bought this suit for me. And quite a bit of my other wardrobe, actually."

 "Do I do that a lot? Buy you gifts?"

 Ed's mouth quirked in a brief grimace, and Oswald realized he might have offended him. He had merely been curious about their dynamic, and what nice things they might like to do for one another.

 "I'd like to think I...reciprocate in other ways. I'm very appreciative for everything you've done for me in these past few months."

 Oswald's mind immediately went to sex again, and he was overcome with a sort of prudish puritanical guilt for it. He wondered if that was somehow indicative of his upbringing. "I wasn't trying to-" he swallowed, "I don't have any doubt about that."

 Ed visibly relaxed. "I'll just go take care of those papers and then we can head home."

 Unexpectedly, he stepped back into Oswald's space and enveloped him in a tight hug. Oswald's face was pressed up against his chest. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around Ed in return.

 "I'm so glad you're going to be okay. This must be so strange, but I swear, everything will be back to normal soon. I'll do anything I can to make that happen," Ed murmured above him, sounding breathless and overwhelmed.

 "Thank you," Oswald whispered. He could fee Ed's body heat against his cheek, along with the stuttering rise and fall of his chest, and couldn't help but press himself a little closer. What he had done to deserve a man like this, he had know idea. Maybe it had alluded him even before he had lost his recollection of who he was.

 After a long minute, Ed gradually extracted himself from the embrace. Oswald saw him rub his eyes behind his glasses before leaving the room.

 Finding himself already annoyed by Ed's absence, Oswald grabbed the walking cane and pushed himself to his feet. His ankle spasmed in discomfort, but it wasn't completely unbearable. He knew he could certainly make it to whatever vehicle they might have, though he wasn't sure how he knew.

 To distract himself, he collected his various personal items from the bedside table. He was pleased that he automatically knew which pocket each item went into, his hands moving like clock work. He pulled the gloves on last, even though he was indoors, his hands were cold. 

 Remembering the pocket watch, he flicked it open and checked the time. If it was still wound properly, then it was nearing 6:30 PM. He was hungry, so he supposed that seemed right, even if his body hadn't been on any sort of natural schedule for the past few days. The room he had been situated in didn't even have any windows.

 He gave Ed the good news when he returned. "I know where everything goes," he told him proudly. "I was a little unsure about the lighter, though."

 Ed seemed happy with the small development. "Usually I carry it for you."

 Oswald suspected that it had originally been out of politeness, so Ed could light them for him, but it also meant that he must have had to ask Ed every time they were out somewhere and he wanted to smoke. He filed this little piece of information away, that Ed might occasionally use his charms to get Oswald to do things his way.

 "Ah. Well, let's be off then. To be perfectly honest, I'm starving."

 Ed laughed. "I can imagine you'd want some solid food."

 Still leaning heavily on his cane, Oswald let Ed lead him out into the hallway, down an elevator and another few twisting hallways into an underground parking garage. They finally stopped in front of a boxy black car.

 "I know the town car would have been nicer, but I didn't want to have to summon the driver."

 "So, this is our car?"

 Ed gave a half shrug, unlocking the passenger side door and holding it open for Oswald. "I'd say it's my car, mainly. You bought it for me after we realized that my old '64 Nova had been impounded. The paint job on that one had been more of a gray-green, I don't know if that sounds familiar. I think you were only ever in it once, now that I recall." Oswald slid into his seat, and Ed went back to the other side to do the same.

"It sounds like you know more about cars than I do. I think those are the sort of non personal details I'm supposed to remember."

 Ed chuckled. "What you like about cars, is that they get you places."

 Oswald suspected he was being quoted directly. "What about you?"

 "I'm not sure if I've ever told you this before, but I took auto-shop as an elective in high school. I might have been bookworm that could have been knocked over with a warm breeze, but I sure knew my way around a carburetor. Cars are just big moving puzzles, and I love puzzles."

 Oswald elbowed him affectionately. "Sounds very butch of you."

 Ed shot him a curious look. "Do you remember him?"

 "No, I just meant...is that the name of someone we know?"

 "Never mind. He's not important." Ed pulled a cellular phone from his jacket. "What is important, is what you want for dinner. I'll call Olga--our cook--and have her make anything your heart could desire. Hopefully fresh out of the oven when we come through the front door."

 Oswald thought that sounded delightful. Some image came to him of returning to a hot, home-cooked meal, in a cozy apartment instead of the house Ed had described, but it was too hazy to know if it was truly a memory or a figment of his imagination. "I think anything is the key word there," he finally replied, "I'll eat anything."

 "Okey dokey," Ed chirped. Oswald thought that was sort of cute. Ed dialed a number from memory and had a brief conversation with a heavily accented woman who didn't sound particularly happy to receive his call. Oswald's focus drifted out again, and he tapped his fingers in an off-beat tattoo against the dashboard.

 "It might not sound like it," said Ed, as he snapped the phone closed, "but she's relieved you're alright."

 "I'm glad to hear that."

 As Ed started the ignition and pulled them out of the parking garage, Oswald caught sight of his reflection in the rear view mirror. His greasy hair was in an almost comic disarray, and his face looked waxy and pale, more so than he thought was usual.

 "God, do I look a fright," he murmured.

 "I wouldn't say that exactly," said Ed, his eyes still steadily on the road. "But I do know how you like being tidy. I could draw you a bath when we get home."

 "Food first. Bath second," Oswald immediately declared.

 "Yes, sir," Ed cracked a grin. "There's the Oswald I remember--a man who knows what he wants."

 They were silent for a few moments, as Oswald dwelt on Ed's words. He rested his head against the cool glass of the window and surveyed the city whizzing by, the buildings being kissed by the last rays of pink light while the sun set far over the horizon.

 "I'm surprised your not asking me more questions," said Ed. "You're oddly calm."

 "Am I usually not?"

 Ed made a noncommital noise, flicking on the left blinker. "I mean, I'm practically a stranger to you. Not even practically. I could be taking you anywhere."

 "Mmh, I suppose that's true. But I'm starving and exhausted and my head hurts, and for whatever reason, I trust you."

 He watched Ed's face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in fondness. Oswald tried to write the lines in to his memory, in hopes he wouldn't lose them again.

 "I'm sorry, especially about your head. The doctor gave me painkillers for that, she said you should take them with food."

 Oswald nodded, his eyes catching Ed's in the mirror.

 "We're nearly there," said Ed as they pulled off on to a road that lead outside the city limits.

 Oswald couldn't help but gasp when they eventually drove up the winding driveway of the enormous property. Twisting ivy leaves trailed up the stone walls of the mansion, obviously weathered by age but still regal in its splendor. 

 "It's huge. We live here?" Oswald asked softly. Ed nodded, seemingly amused by the childlike wonder of the question. He got out to open Oswald's door, and gently guided him with a hand at his elbow down the rest of the drive and up the front steps. 

 Once Ed had unlocked the front door, Oswald gaped at the foyer's rich furnishings and grand staircase. Ed watched him all the while. After giving him a moment to take it in, he steered him through a sitting room and into what looked to be a dining room. Two place setting were already laid out, and the smell of something delicious wafted in from an unknown source.

 "I'm glad she lit the fireplace in the sitting room, I imagine it's going to be a brisk night."

 Oswald simply stared at the table. "Where do I usually sit?"

 Ed's lips pursed, one of the minute movements Oswald was now re-learning. "The head of the table." He said it as if it should have been obvious.

 "Oh, okay." He sat down before Ed could pull the chair out for him, already starting to feel like a burden. Ed sat primly at his right side.

 As if on cue, a woman appeared from the opposite direction of where they had come, bearing large trays of food. 

"Mister Cobblepot, it is good that you are returned," she told Oswald flatly, as she set down a baked chicken between him and Ed, the steam still rolling off of it.

 "Oh, thank you, um," Oswald's eyes darted to Ed, who silently mouthed her name, "...Olga." He smiled appeasingly.

 The cook turned to Ed. "He is not there all the way in the head, no?"

 Ed looked sheepish. "He's still recovering. Like I said over the phone."

 Oswald started cutting into the chicken, half listening to their conversation.

 "And pay for last three days...?"

 "Even though we weren't here, nothing will be subtracted from you wages."

 She seemed satisfied with that, and began her retreat to the kitchen. "You take good care of Mister Cobblepot," she told Ed as she passed by him, her tone stern.

 "I almost don't want to worry you with talk about work so soon," Ed told him, as Oswald piled his plate high with all the side dishes Olga had prepared, "but I will say that we have someone temporarily filling in for you at city hall. Depending on how long your symptoms last, though, you may have to step down from office. No matter what happens, I'm here to help you."

 Oswald paused, fork halfway to his mouth, "What do I do exactly?"

 "Oh. You're the mayor of Gotham. I should have said that first."

 Oswald blinked.

 "Legitimately, you're the mayor, in addition to...essentially running the criminal underground of the city."

 "This isn't some elaborate prank is it?"

 Ed vigorously shook his head. "I've tried to keep your accident out of the newspapers. As far as the public knows, you're just ill. We especially don't want the city's various gangs and criminal undercurrent knowing about your condition and trying to exploit it to usurp your power. You've worked very hard to get to where you are now."

 Oswald wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and nodded. "This isn't exactly ringing any bells for me, but somehow the criminal kingpin part sounds more plausible than being mayor."

 Ed smiled despite himself. "Well, your mayoral victory was fairly recent--just three months ago."

 "When did you start living with me?"

 Ed seemed slightly surprised by the question. "A little over three months ago. Maybe four. You did live at my apartment for a time, before then. But the circumstances were...certainly different. Maybe a little too much to go into tonight."

 Oswald nodded thoughtfully, still curious but not wanting to pry too deeply yet. "What do you do, officially?"

 "I'm your chief of staff." Ed seemed content to watch Oswald clean his plate, barely picking at his own chicken and cooked vegetables.

 "But you...do a little bit more than that." Oswald wasn't sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.

 Ed quirked his mouth into a mischievous grin. "Well, someone has to help you run the criminal underworld."

 Oswald returned his conspiratorial gaze across the table; it felt as natural as pulling on a glove. 

   
 Ed was still trying to explain to him all of the intricate inner workings of the city's criminal element and the strained relations between each of its individuals gangs, bosses, and districts when they had finished dinner and were making their way upstairs.

 "As fascinating as this all is," said Oswald, tightly gripping the banister, "I think there's only so much I can take in for one evening. And, for the time being, it sounds like you have a handle things."

 Ed hummed in agreement. "I'm sorry, I know you said you were tired." He noticed that Oswald had paused indecisively at the landing of the second floor. "The master bedroom is on the left, the farthest room down the hall."

 "Oh," Oswald whispered sheepishly.

 Ed followed him in to the room. "Feel free to look around, if you want. I'll get started on that bath." He gathered up a few things from a drawer and made his way into what must have been the attached bathroom. 

 Oswald took in the room; It was odd to think this was where he slept every night, but it felt as new to him as a hotel room might. It was furnished similarly to the other parts of the mansion that he had seen, with dark wood and plush, vintage furniture. The elaborate four poster bed was the focal point of the room, set across from an unlit fireplace. My bed, he thought to himself. No, our bed, his mind corrected, with some slight apprehension.

 There was a desk with a chair in one corner of the room, along with two arm chairs and a small table in another. He made his way over to what appeared to be a walk-in closet, and took a few moments looking through the clothes and things there. Everything was very nice, but still frustratingly unfamiliar.

 He wondered which clothes were his and which were Ed's but it was impossible to tell. He pulled out a thin drawer and surveyed a beautiful array of brocade ties in nearly every shade imaginable, along with small compartments that held various sets of cuff links. He ran his fingers along the smooth fabric of the rolled ties, lingering on one that was violet and decorated with a swirling pattern.

 He heard Ed clear his throat. "The bath's ready." 

 Oswald shut the drawer, and followed his voice into the bathroom. A metallic claw-foot tub was filled with hot, soapy water, and the fragrant scent of roses wafted from it along with the curling steam. Ed stood nearby, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. 

 "I took the liberty of adding your bubble bath. I thought it might serve as a sort of olfactory trigger--we often link scents to memories, just as much or more than sights or sounds. Hopefully the heat will provide a little relief for your ankle, as well."

 "Ah, well, it does smell lovely in here." The only other thing he could have wanted was a glass of wine, but Ed had already vetoed that idea during dinner, arguing that it might interact negatively with the painkillers he had just taken with his meal. 

 He nodded as Ed showed him where the towels and other bath accessories were, and where he had left a pair of Oswald's pajamas folded on the counter. Ed turned back towards him, his eyes suddenly drawn to where Oswald had already shed his waistcoat and shirt, and was unfastening his trousers.

 "Well, I'll- I'll give you some privacy, then." He left abruptly, shutting the door behind him.

 Oswald remembered their conversation in the car, what Ed had said about them practically being strangers in Oswald's mind. He wondered if Ed was worried about making him uncomfortable. Trying to focus on something more pleasant, he fully undressed and sank into the tub. The water was almost painfully warm, just like he somehow knew he liked it.

 As he started to vigorously wash his hair, the floral scent conjured an image in his mind, of a woman draped in old world finery, a cascade of gray-blonde curls creating a halo around her face. It brought a cold edge of bone-deep sadness with it, and Oswald hurriedly tried to push the hazy memory away, instead focusing on the warmth and comfort around him. Like all of the minute information Ed had tried to bestow upon him earlier, it was too much for him too soon.

   
Once his hair had been shampooed and conditioned, and the rest of his body scrubbed nearly to a pink, he decided to get out of the bath before his exhaustion made him accidentally fall asleep in it. He let the tub drain and toweled off, marveling at how smooth the silk pajamas that had been left for him felt against his skin. He studied his mess of towel-dry hair in the mirror, unsure of how to fix it. After sifting through some of the drawers he combed it to the side with a neat part, using a fine toothed comb he had found.

 He felt mildly invasive pouring through the array of grooming tools, even though he knew they were technically his own, or at least some of them. Sniffing at a bottle of amber colored cologne, he wondered if it was his or his partner's. They certainly had a lot of toiletries.

 He looked over his appearance one last time before opening the door back into the bedroom and finding it surprisingly empty. Was Ed going to sleep in a different room? Oswald thought that they should do whatever they usually do, returning to his regular routine like the doctor had insisted.

 He called out Ed's name, who must have not been too far away in the mansion because he almost immediately appeared.

 "Is there something else I can do for you?" He was wearing a unfastened robe with flannel pajama pants and an undershirt beneath it, his hair still damp as if he had also showered or bathed. For the first time that Oswald had seen, he wasn't wearing his glasses. He felt a strange fondness come over him at the sight, pulling at some place deep in his chest.

 Oswald beckoned him closer. "No...no, I don't need anything." He rested a tentative hand on Ed's arm. "I just want to thank you for everything you've done for me tonight." He leaned up on his toes and gently pressed his lips to Ed's.

 Ed froze against him, until he gradually began to return the pressure of the kiss, his hand coming up to card at the back of Oswald's hair, before he abruptly pulled himself away.

 "Oswald, I-" he began to stutter, "I shouldn't have let you-"

 Oswald put a single finger to his lips to silence him. "Even if I can't remember, I know we must have done that hundreds of times before. It just...it felt right. I didn't have a single doubt in my mind when you told me you were my partner."

 Ed's mouth fell open.

 "You know," Oswald continued, undeterred, "my mother always told me that you only ever had one true love, and tha-" He suddenly paused, staring off into the middle distance. _His mother._ His poor, sweet mother Gertrud, who had been so devoted to him all those years. Who had died in his arms.

 "Your mother..." Ed echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "How much do you remember about...?"

 Wet, hot tears were already forming in Oswald's eyes, his breath coming in painful, broken gasps. "She's gone," Oswald warbled, the words practically unintelligible. 

 For the second time that night, Ed's arms came around him in a calming embrace, one hand petting at his hair in a soothing motion. Oswald's own hands were clutched tightly in the back of Ed's robe as he pressed his face to Ed's shoulder, his body still being wracked by silent gasping sobs.

 Oswald wasn't sure how long they stayed liked that, with Ed murmuring consoling words that he's couldn't quite hear against his hair. It was as if a whole segment of his life had come back to him, or at least bit and pieces, like cracks of light pouring in from a boarded-up window. All of the memories he could now recall revolved around his mother, the most vivid being one of her comforting him after an especially horrible day of being bullied and harassed at school. The way she had held him wasn't unlike the way Ed was holding him now.

 He wiped his face with his own sleeve, not entirely pulling himself from Ed's grip. "Please, I want to go to sleep. Let's go to bed."

 Ed's hand dropped from where it had still been stroking Oswald's hair. When Oswald looked at him, his expression was hard to read. 

 Instead of waiting for an answer, Oswald pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed, moving all the way to the far side of it. He looked up expectantly at Ed.

 After a long moment of apparent uncertainty, Ed flicked off the single bedside lamp that had been lighting the room, and climbed in beside him. Oswald watched his profile in the dark as Ed laid on his back, mirroring his own repose and leaving a considerable gap between them.

 "Ed, I want-" He wasn't sure how to voice his needs. He turned his head, and ran his fingers down the length of Ed's bare arm, the touch feather light. He could hear Ed's uneven breath, or possibly his own.

 When Oswald drew his hand away, Ed turned over on his side to face him, cautiously reaching out to lay one arm protectively over Oswald's middle. Silently, he laid his own hand over Ed's, and finally allowed himself to drift into the sleep that had been threatening to overtake him for the past few hours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald couldn't help but wonder if this was a usual morning for him, one he had experienced many times before and would countless times again in the future. Just the thought alone gave him an odd, overwhelming sensation that he soon came to realize was joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer than expected to write, thanks again for everyone who commented/gave kudos on the first chapter for hanging in there :)

Oswald woke for the second time in twenty four hours with no immediate recollection of how he had gotten to where he was, though this time, with another warm body plastered against the side of his own. His whole body going rigid in surprise, he looked down past his chin to study the face pressed up against his shoulder and gradually recognized Ed, if only from their interactions the night before.

The hazy light coming in from the sheer curtains had probably woken him, though it was a small wonder that he had slept at all considering how smothering Ed's grip of him was now. Despite that fact, Ed was still a rather endearing sight to behold, his head not even on the pillow and one bare foot hanging over the edge of the bed, visible where the covers had been pushed astray. 

Oswald couldn't help but wonder if this was a usual morning for him, one he had experienced many times before and would countless times again in the future. Just the thought alone gave him an odd, overwhelming sensation that he soon came to realize was joy. 

Thinking back to what he could now recall of his childhood and adolescence, or even drawing from some deep intrinsic knowledge of himself, he knew that for a long time he had never expected to find something like this, and had resigned himself to focus on other things and push matters of the heart aside, knowing that he would only have his own broken if he gave it the chance. 

But somehow, miraculously, that hadn't been his fate. And to think, now he had the opportunity to fall in love with this man all over again--and he knew with a certain conviction that he must love Ed, because he would never bother with a casual fling, would only ever have an interest in the type of genuine, lasting love that his mother had always preached to him. And if that last day had been anything to go by, he decided, that love was probably returned in equal force. 

Last night he had fallen asleep resigned and desolate at his unfortunate situation, his melancholy spurned by the reawakened memories of his mother, but this morning he felt newly hopeful for whatever was to come. He willed himself to stay perfectly still, merely soaking up the moment and pressing it into memory like one presses a rare flower into the page of a book, until he eventually grew restless in Ed's grasp and began to wriggle free from it, and pushed himself into a sitting position. The movement didn't seem to stir Ed, who he assumed was probably severely lacking in rest given the circumstances of the last few days. Feeling almost mischievously curious, he pushed back the sheets to get a better view of his sleeping partner.

Contentedly he drank in the sight of Ed's face slack with sleep, and the light definition of muscle in his lean arms. Gazing down at where Ed's long legs were tangled with his own, he suddenly registered what the uneven hardness he had felt against his thigh had been.  _Oh._ He inched his leg away for a better peek, unable to draw his eyes away from the man's sizable morning wood.

Though he knew from personal experience that you could wake up hard after having even the most innocuous of dreams, there was an undeniable intimacy of the situation that simultaneously sent waves of panic and hot, heavy arousal to the pit of his stomach. 

He wondered how their morning routine might hypothetically continue on a day like this, the two of them languidly touching each other through their pajamas in sleepy, familiar strokes, or even Ed enthusiastically divesting him of all his buttoned up silk and pressing him into the mattress as soon as they were both awake enough to know wha they were doing. 

Oswald dug his nails into his own thigh reprimandingly, willing himself to not get to carried away by his own imaginings. Some slight sound may have escaped his lips, because Ed gradually began to stir. Blinking in the room's growing light, he made a noise of alarm. He hurriedly pushed himself up on one elbow to survey the room around him.

"Oswald? Why-" Ed grunted, seemingly going through the same mental process he had. 

Oswald couldn't help but smile. He decided that he could certainly grow used to the sight of Ed's sleep tousled hair. "Good morning."

"Last night we- Oh. Right. Good morning," he stuttered.

"Seems like someone was having a pleasant dream," replied Oswald, after a long moment, his eyes downcast. He surprised even himself with his boldness.

Ed gaped down at himself, as if he had just realized he even had a body. "Oh goodness. Oh no." Hurriedly he untangled himself from what was left of the sheets and got out of the bed, groping around for the dressing gown he had laid aside the night before. "I am so sorry."

"Ed, there's nothing to be-" Oswald began to insist, but Ed was already out the door, shutting it behind him.

"Breakfast is probably ready. It's downstairs whenever you want it." Ed called back to him through the closed door, somehow adding to the ridiculousness of the situation, before Oswald could hear his steps retreating down the hall.

After processing the exchange for a moment, Oswald got out of bed too, finding some slippers that seemed to fit him before briefly using the bathroom. He studied his face in the mirror when he was done, and the visage peering back at him was something between a stranger and an old friend. 

He washed his face and fixed his hair like he had previously, before slipping on a brocade dressing gown he found hanging on a hook--a beautiful gold spiraled thing that spoke to past ages of luxury. As he pinched the sleek fabric of its sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, he almost thought he felt the stirring of some memory, some recognition, but nothing definite came to him.

Retracing his route from the night before, he made his way downstairs with the robe flowing behind him, and returned to the dining room where a sumptuous breakfast spread for two had already been laid out. A newspaper sat next to the spot where Ed had eaten before, and Oswald poured over it as he sipped from his heavily sweetened coffee. 

Maybe ten minutes later, Ed appeared in the doorway, dressed to the nines in a bespoke business suit and with his hair gelled back severely. 

"Oh, I usually read to you from the Gazette in the morning," he said in lieu of greeting, apparently pretending that the morning's earlier awkwardness hadn't occurred.

"I'm nearly done with it if you want it," Oswald told Ed as he sat down. He watched Ed fill his plate with scrambled eggs and various fixings from the tray of thinly sliced meats and cheeses.

"No, it's fine. I should probably eat quickly as it is." Ed pushed up his glasses. "Could you pass the-"

Oswald handed him the still-steaming carafe of coffee, going more by his gesture than his words.

"Thanks."

"I'm on the second page," Oswald said, "of the Gazette I mean." He showed Ed the short snippet of an article, topped with a photo of himself. Mayor still absent with supposed illness, read the byline. "And that's you, if I'm not mistaken," he said pointing to a figure at the side of the small, grainy photo, "but they cropped you out."

It was enough to make Ed chuckle wryly. "I remember when that was taken." he quickly scanned the blurb, "And to think they're trying to insinuate you might have been kidnapped--not that it would be the first time for a Gotham mayor. Don't those vultures have anything better to write about?"

He shook his head, glancing down at his coffee contemplatively. "I need to go to city hall for a few hours and take care of some things. It might be good for you to stay home to rest, and become a little more reacquainted with things here. I promise that tonight over dinner we can go over more about you--as much as I know or as much as you want to know. I'm sure this is still...overwhelming."

"It is, but I think I can handle it. Especially with you by my side." 

Ed gazed back at him, seemingly taken aback. Oswald wished he could decipher every emotion that flashed behind those dark, serious eyes.

"That's...I'm glad to hear it," said Ed, standing abruptly. "I need to go, just call me if you need anything."

Oswald nodded. Suddenly realizing something, he got up and quickly followed Ed to the front door, putting an uncomfortable strain on his ankle in the process. "Wait, I don't know your phone number." 

"Oh," said Ed sheepishly. He fished a post-it note from his briefcase and scrawled two numbers in neat, blocky print, "The first one's my cell phone and the second is your office. If you call that one a woman named Penny will answer, she's your personal secretary."

"Ah." Oswald wondered if this was his cue to send Ed off with a kiss on the cheek or some similar gesture, like some old black-and-white television couple. He even leaned in slightly with the hopes that Ed initiate something, but instead Ed just gave him a curt nod and shut the door behind himself.

 

Left nearly alone in the mansion, Oswald wandered back to the breakfast table and snatched his coffee and a croissant, assuming that the cook would take care of the rest. He spent the rest of the late morning exploring the rooms one by one, a venture that took longer than he had expected. 

He spent a particularly long time studying the painted portrait that hung above the fireplace in the main sitting room, seeing more of his own face in it the longer he looked. Was he the father Ed had alluded to? Or even a grandfather or other relation? He couldn't be sure of its age. He recognized the framed photo of his mother on the mantel, at least, even if he didn't recall placing it there.

Many of the other downstairs rooms didn't appear to be heavily used, some of them sporting a fine layer of dust that the housekeeper seemingly missed, or didn't even care to attempt to clean. In stark contrast, one room that appeared to have seen some recent life was a cozy private library.

Bookshelves tall enough to warrant a sliding ladder occupied three of the walls and part of the fourth, ending where a large bay window gave him a view of the overgrown gardens at the back of the property. Besides the lack of dust, Oswald scanned the room for quaint little signs of life--a comfortable afghan blanket thrown over the back of the sofa, an empty teacup that had been left on one side table, and the small stack of books resting on the window seat's cushion. He sat down to survey the titles and page through the leather volumes, finding that they were mostly non-fiction books about science and history. 

Immediately, he knew that this must be Ed's reading spot, because he doubted that he could get through even a chapter of them without being bored stiff. One of the few fiction books was something by E.M. Forster, a name that might have been bandied about in his high school English class, though he suspected he wouldn't remember much of that regardless of his condition.

He flipped it open with idle interest to a random page and scanned a few lines:

_“I knew you read the Symposium in the vac," he said in a low voice._  
_Maurice felt uneasy._  
_"Then you understand - without me saying more - "_  
_"How do you mean?"_  
_Durham could not wait. People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, "I love you.”_

Slightly intrigued, he toyed with the idea of tucking it under his arm as he continued his explorations upstairs, but instead decided to leave it where it was. Though he wasn't sure how much time he had spent in the library before, he had been happy at least to find it so pleasant and lived in.

The first thing he did after his trek upstairs was retrieve his cane from the master bedroom, before he surveyed the upstairs rooms in a similar fashion. Most seemed to be long unoccupied bedrooms, with some of the furniture covered in white sheets. He browsed through one closet, finding women's clothes that were easily fifty years out of style and covered in enough dust to make him cough. Oswald felt himself growing bored and frustrated. 

One room, two doors down from his own, did surprise him. It was sparsely decorated, but like the library downstairs, had obvious signs of recent use. A few personal items littered the dresser next to the bed: a small decorative dish filled with spare change, a single pair of cuff links, the type of case people store their glasses in, a small bottle of hand lotion labeled for 'sensitive skin,' and a pile of books similar to the ones laid aside in the library. 

When Oswald turned to take in the hastily made bed itself, the patchwork quilt covering it made him stop in his tracks. 

He remembered it. Had slept under it, wrapping himself in it's thread worn comfort, what felt like ages ago. 

He closed his eyes, and almost instantly he could picture another room around him--Ed's apartment. Himself, sulking under sheets and blankets while Ed played a hauntingly familiar tune on a keyboard. Ed cooking dinner. Ed changing his bandages. The two of them watching a frankly boring movie on the aging rabbit-eared television set.

The sudden revelation had brought him out of his more current investigation. The items in the spare bedroom were certainly Ed's. The diploma on the wall, a degree in Forensic Sciences from Gotham University bearing Ed's name, was the last piece of evidence he needed. But why? Did they usually sleep in separate rooms, like some old couple of a past decade? Or had their relationship been a more recent development, after the point Ed had moved in with him? No, that didn't sound right, he mused, especially thinking back to his memories of the apartment. Maybe they had had a fight, and one of them was in the proverbial dog house? Some things weren't exactly adding up.

He didn't feel particularly guilty as he continued to pour through the room, probably past the usual point of respecting privacy. He casually looked through the dresser drawers, examining a pair of black boxer-briefs before folding them back into place. The rest of the clothes were less interesting: carefully folded socks and undershirts, and a wardrobe of tailored business suits, along with a few other odds and ends. The only other mildly interesting find was a bottle of 'personal lubricant' he found in the top drawer of a bedside table--admittedly, he had assumed that was what the hand lotion he had already found was for.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, he soon found his appetite for food overcoming his appetite for investigation.

He made his back down stairs again, past the empty dining room table and into what he assumed was the kitchen, hoping to fix himself something. Olga, the cook, was busy slicing vegetables, and evidently something was in the oven. She turned at the sound of his slippers on the tile floor. 

"Lunch is on tray for you," she informed him flatly, before returning her attention to her work.

"Oh. Thank you very much." He spotted the tray that had been laid out--some sort of sandwich with assorted fruit on the side. He watched her work for a moment. Even if she lacked the parental warmth, the sight of her still reminded Oswald of his mother, in some small way.

"Could I- Could I help with anything?" he asked tentatively. He had felt sort of useless all day. She shot him a withering glance over her shoulder.

"Okay, I'll just take my lunch, then. Thank you."

He carried the tray out into the front sitting room, deciding that after he ate he might venture into the dilapidated gardens. Just as he had gotten one bite into the best tuna salad sandwich he could recall ever eating, the doorbell began to ring incessantly.

He looked up, wondering if Olga had heard it or if it was even part of her job to answer it. Instead he pulled his robe tighter around him and went to answer the door. Part of him thought he should probably ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him.

He opened it cautiously to find a woman about his age with wavy blonde hair, dressed in a shimmering mini dress and elaborate fur coat. 

"Hello?" He supposed his puzzlement showed on his face.

"Ozzie! Just checking in that you're still alive. I would've popped by earlier but you know how running a nightclub is, I didn't wake up until noon."

He stared blankly. She was probably some acquaintance of his, going by her familiarity, though he found himself annoyed by the nickname. Had Ed mentioned something about two women who owned a club the night before in his long explanation of the city's inner workings? The pain pills had already began to kick in by that time.

"Maybe you've been taking a bit too much cough syrup, huh?" she asked, taking in his hazy stupor. "I'd ask for a hit of that but I brought something much, much better." She brandished an expensive looking bottle of rosé that had been tucked under her arm.

That alone was enough to allow her entrance into the house, Oswald decided.

She seemed to know her way around as she practically lead him back into the sitting room. "You keep some glasses in here don't you?"

He went to retrieve two from the sideboard he had noticed earlier. 

"So you're home in your slippers and curlers while your boy toy is running Gotham, huh? And here I thought you were the more 'take-charge' one."

He nearly dropped the glasses. Unsure of what to say to that, he gave her a weak shrug. "I'm feeling a little under the weather."

She eyed him suspiciously as she poured the rosé. "You know I sensed that--you're lacking a little of the usual venom, though that's not really a complaint." She took a sip of her drink, after giving a sharp trill of a laugh.

He swirled his own glass. "So how are things?" seemed an appropriate thing to ask.

He was lucky in that she seemed to love to talk--especially about herself. He nodded when appropriate, as she filled him in on recent happenings in the Sirens' Club, as her establishment was called, as well as various news from the wider criminal underworld. 

"-So she says to me,  _'Barbara, why the hell did you-'_  " A shrill beep from her cellular phone interrupted her train of thought. She gave a little grimace before extracting it from her clutch. "Sorry about that." 

She flipped it open, boredly listening to the other side of the brief conservation. She shut it with snap. "Well, it seems our little coffee klatch will have to be cut short. I do love how domestic you've made the place, in a sort of decrepit-victorian-mansion-where-people-have-died sort of way. Very you."

He stood. "Don't you have some place to be going to."

That seemed to be properly in character, as she allowed him to escort her to the door. Suddenly she turned on her heels, to face him, her face slightly sinister. "I know what's different about you! I knew something seemed wrong."

"What's that?" He gave her a haughty raised eyebrow.

"You're not doing that sort of..disco vampire thing with your hair. That's it!" She made a gesture with her hand reminiscent of a bird's plumage. "Any way, toodles!"

"Goodbye, Barbara."

He finished off the rest of the bottle by himself, along with the remnants of his sandwich, her visit giving him a lot to mull over. Still with a some hours until Ed's inevitable return, he had to decide how he would occupy his time.

 

He returned upstairs to the master suit, with the intention of cleaning himself up a bit before dinner. As he shrugged out of the brocade dressing gown, the gold thread subtly shimmering even in the room's dim light, he could suddenly picture it on Ed's angular shoulders. 

The two of them on the couch in the sitting room. A warm cup of tea passed into waiting hands. Dancing firelight bathing them in a soft glow.

_"I hope you know, Oswald, I would do anything for you."_

It played with all the starkness of a film in his mind, but what came directly after that was just a little more hazy. Ed's head on his shoulder, his hands splayed across Ed's back, clutching at him almost desperately. Then what? He wracked his brain, coming to a metaphorical brick wall. 

It was embarrassingly easy to imagine how it  _might_ have progressed--pushing the robe down Ed's shoulders, climbing into Ed's lap as his blunt nails carded through the hair at the back of Oswald's neck. How it might have progressed even further splayed horizontally across the sofa, or continued on a more comfortable surface upstairs. Naturally, he drew upon his recollections of their kiss the night before--as brief as it was. He knew his partner had been holding back then.

He showered and dressed as he supposed he usually would, sans suit jacket. Standing in front of the mirror like he had that morning, he contemplated his reflection. After finding a half empty jar of styling paste in one drawer, he took his time warming a small amount of the product in his hands and styling his hair into jagged, asymmetrical points, like the photo he had seen in the newspaper.

Once he began it seemed to come back to him, just where each strand went and how to fix the back and top for the full effect of volume. He wasn't sure if he looked like himself per se, but he certainly looked like a full fledged person, not the uncarved stone that he had been feeling like inside.

He went downstairs and found the book he had picked up earlier in the library, along with an unopened bottle of red in one of the cabinets. As he lounged in the living room with a glass and paged to the beginning of the thin novel, Oswald decided that he painted the perfect tableau of intimate domesticity. The type of scene a man would want to come home to.

He surprised himself by how immersed he had become in the book when he heard the click of a key in the latch. He had meant to greet Ed at the door, but almost as soon as Oswald had set the book down Ed had already strolled into the sitting room and had set his briefcase down on an empty chair.

He stopped when he saw Oswald, pausing, as if to take in the sight. "There's no need to get up," he said, when Oswald pushed himself to his feet.

"I think there is. It's good to see you." He came in close, drinking in Ed's appearance in equal measure. A few strands of his gelled hair had fallen out of place, and his face was still wrought with a stoic concern.

"You know, when I came in and saw you," said Ed, "I almost forgot anything was different. As if you had just been taking a sick day."

"Well don't worry, it's not anything you could catch." In a move that he thought was particularly smooth, he leaned up to capture Ed's mouth in a quick but firm kiss.

"Oswald," Ed breathed, "I don't think you should do that." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Oswald.

"Does that mean you didn't want me too?"

Ed bit his lip. "Those are...two entirely different matters."

Oswald put his hands on his hips. "Oh?"

They both turned suddenly at the clicking sound of footsteps on tile. "Dinner is on the table," said Olga from the doorway, composed as ever at the scene of confrontation before her.

Once again the two of them sat down to something mouthwatering, and Oswald could tell this time that the food was genuinely good and that it wasn't just his achingly empty stomach's opinion.

For a long stretch, the only sound was the clinking of silverware on their plates. It seemed they were at an odd sort of stalemate.

"You know," Ed cleared his throat, "When we first met, you didn't like me very much. Couldn't stand me, actually."

"Oh?" Oswald was genuinely surprised. "Any particular reason?"

"The first time we talked, I think I just came on too strong..." He gave a slight wince as soon as he had said it, as if it was a poor choice of words.

Oswald raised an eyebrow--this was coming from the man who had been frustratingly reserved all day. He poured them both another glass of wine. "Well, you'll just have to tell me all about it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been following and commenting on this so far for hanging in there! A lot has been going on in my personal life lately, on top of this fic making itself unusually hard for me to finish, but I'm so glad it's now complete :) 
> 
> Plus,if anyone is interested, I've made an 8tracks playlist of songs that remind me of this story/served as inspiriation (https://8tracks.com/babetclaquesous/i-keep-remembering-me-i-keep-remembering-you-a-nygmobblepot-fic-playlist)
> 
> Alsoo, these were the inspo for the shoes I mention half way through the chapter in case anyone was curious (https://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/Saint-Laurent-Wyatt-Leather-Harness-Boot/prod134020012/p.prod?eVar4=You%20May%20Also%20Like)

"Well..." Oswald prompted, when he was met with silence. "What happened when we first met?"

Ed shook his head, "I think I need to start even earlier than that--for context. I don't know how much you remember about your life before then, even...the person that you were...certainly not the person that I was."

So, as they ate and drank, Oswald took Ed up on his offer from the night before. He listened, engrossed and enraptured, as Ed told him everything about his life that he could.

They were all stories that Oswald had recounted to him before, or apparently, details Ed had collected from Oswald's file from the GCPD, all recited in depth from Ed's near-photographic memory: how Oswald had entered Gotham's criminal underworld working under Fish Mooney, how his plan to snitch on her to the Major Crimes Unit backfired, how instead he had worked that to his advantage, choosing Jim Gordon as his would-be assassin, finding work with Don Maroni while reporting back to his rival, Falcone. Everything from his first rise to power after the Maroni-Falcone gang war, to his mother's demise at the hands of the Galavans, to his imprisonment and eventual release from Arkahm and finally to the string of events that brought Ed and Oswald back together after Ed's own incarceration.

Oswald couldn't help but be endeared by the awe in Ed's voice, as he described each setback but eventual victory. 

"I suppose I admire how you always seem to rise out of the ashes, like a phoenix, and rebuild yourself when things go awry. How you've helped to rebuild me, as well," said Ed, turning oddly shy as he took another long draw from his glass.

At some point in the evening they both retired to the sitting room, carrying with them a second and third bottle. Ed lit the fireplace, which was a welcome comfort during the coolness of the night, as they sat and reminisced. 

Oswald would occasionally interrupt when he found himself already remembering things, or when he had trouble picturing a face to go along with a name, or even when Ed revealed something about one or both of them that he found surprising.

"Wait, wait," Oswald interjected, still thinking about their first conversation at the GCPD bullpen, even though Ed had moved far, far past that point in their narrative, "How did you know I was there to give Jim Gordon an invitation to my nightclub? I don't think I would have told you about that. Did he mention it to you?"

He was sure that there were more times he had interacted with the man that he still couldn't recall, but Ed's accounts had brought enough memories back to the surface to paint a broad picture of Jim Gordon. Something about him had stood out, stark and vivid, in the otherwise hazy cloud that filled his mind, an observation that he had shared with Ed.

Ed rubbed the back of his neck as he contemplated the question, an almost imperceptible redness coloring the tips of his ears. "Well, I saw you give him something, and then I saw him throw it in the trash as soon as you walked away."

Oswald frowned. He hadn't imagined the detective had gotten rid of it so quickly.

"...And I was curious, so I took it out of the trash to look at it," Ed concluded.

Surprising even himself, Oswald burst out laughing. "Ed-" he choked out.

"It's not that funny!"

Oswald put on hand on Ed's shoulder to steady himself, still snickering. "Well, I'm certainly learning a lot about you. It seems I had a little stalker."

"You should be glad that I was as...fixated...with you as I was, or else I probably wouldn't have helped you when I found you half-dead in the woods."

The laughter finally fading from Oswald's lips, he looked Ed steadily in the eye. "Trust me, I'm eminently grateful you came to my aid that night." His fingers gently stroked Ed's arm through his shirt. "And that my stalker turned out to be so sweet and handsome," he added playfully.

Ed ducked his head with a smile, clearly embarrassed but flattered. Oswald wondered if he was only more receptive to these advances because of the couple of drinks he had indulged in, or if their mutual reminiscing was to blame.

"Do you really mean that?"

Oswald tilted his head, letting his voice go lower and raspy. "Ed, of course I do." 

Ed's eyes flit back up to his. "Can I...can I ask you something?"

Oswald's gaze followed Ed's tongue as he licked his lips. _God,_ he thought, _that devilishly beautiful mouth._ "Anything."

"Did you have feelings for Jim Gordon? back then, I mean."

The question brought Oswald to a stand still. After a long moment he replied, "Yes...yes, I did."

Ed's face was impassive, his mouth a flat line. Oswald sensed something seething beneath the calm surface.

"It's almost embarrassing now," Oswald continued, "to look back on it. But you can probably imagine how, after he spared my life on the docks, he became a sort of...romanticized hero figure in my mind. I suppose it didn't hurt that he was a decent looking man, either. I repeatedly put out a hand of friendship to him--just friendship--but I didn't realize until too late that our values were so widely different that we couldn't even have as much as a civil working relationship. And from the sound of it, he certainly showed his true colors when he left me to rot in Arkham."

Ed nodded, taking in the information along with another sip from his glass. He shifted on the sofa, and Oswald found himself overly aware of how their thighs were just barely touching.

"There's nothing to be jealous of, Ed..."

"I'm not-" Ed spluttered, suddenly defensive, "I never said I was. Not anything of the sort."

Oswald's hand returned to his shoulder. "Well, good. There's no need to be. I've moved on to better things. And a far better man."

Ed looked flustered, almost guilty, at the praise. "I honestly don't know what to say to that..." He turned away, gazing into the flickering of the fireplace.

"Speaking of Gordon, though," Oswald said, deciding he would try to lighten the mood, "Something I do remember now...is the look he had on his face when he woke up in your loft, to the two us palling around at the keyboard."

Ed cracked a genuine grin. "Priceless. That was priceless."

Soon they were both laughing and joking, recalling their escapades from their first short-lived tenure as roommates, and how they had gone from near-strangers to the best of friends. When the grandfather clock in the room chimed midnight, they were both as pleasantly wine-drunk as they had been the night they had slain Mr. Leonard.

Ed stifled a yawn, "I'm usually not so tired this early. I think I'm still exhausted from those days in the hospital. They put my whole schedule out of sync."

Just from the past two days, Oswald sensed that Ed was usually a man of structured time tables. "I'm feeling it a bit too. Let's go to bed." Beyond feeling tired, his drinking had put an insistent pressure on his bladder, and he knew he would need to get up in a moment anyway.

Ed didn't argue with him, nor with the subtle implication that the sentence held. He simply nodded sleepily. In companionable silence, they made their way upstairs and into the master bedroom. 

"I'll be right back," Oswald said before darting into the bathroom. When he had returned, Ed had turned off the one bedside lamp, having apparently shed his trousers and dress shirt and slipped into bed.

Oswald was glad for that at least, though part of him felt slightly cheated out of not seeing Ed undress, as silly as that was. Quickly, he brushed his teeth and washed his face, before finding a pair of pajamas in one of the dresser drawers, the color of them hard to determine in the low light. He noticed Ed turn over onto his other side, facing away as he changed.

"I'm sure it's not anything you haven't seen before," said Oswald, low and even as he undid his trousers. 

He thought he heard something almost like a mumbled huff of laughter from Ed, who rolled onto his back, not looking straight at Oswald but not avoiding him either. "No...I mean, you're right. Technically."

Dressed, Oswald walked around to the other side of the bed to get in beside him. Though the two of them painted almost the exact same tableau as the night before, on their backs with a distinct space between them, the energy was different--calm and content. Almost familiar. 

"Ed?" Oswald whispered.

"Mhh?" Ed mumbled, clearly on the verge of sleep.

"Did we...were we having a fight? Around when I had the accident?" Oswald asked, still thinking of the other room, set up as if Ed had been sleeping in it.

Ed turned to face him suddenly, and Oswald could just barely make out where his brow was furrowed. "Do you remember that?" Oswald heard a strain in his voice, like he was waiting for a bomb to drop.

"No, no. Everything that recent is still..." he made a sweeping motion with his hands, and Ed knew him well enough to know what it meant. "I just had a feeling, I don't know. Unless it was really important, I don't think I want to even hear about it." He felt like they were in a better place now than the day before, and he just wanted to leave it at that.

Ed relaxed again, head sinking back onto the pillow. He made a soft noise of agreement. "Okay. Goodnight, Oswald."

"Goodnight."

 

From there it seemed life went on as usual, or as usual as it could be for people like them, given all of the circumstances. Even though he was operating with more second hand knowledge than genuinely recovered memories, Oswald found himself slipping back into his roles as mayor and kingpin respectively without too many hiccups, especially with Ed's ever-present guiding hand.

From how it all appeared, he must have relied on Ed's help nearly as much as this before his memory loss. What stood out to him was how easily and readily Ed slipped into the role of his right-hand man, and how much satisfaction he seemed to gain from doing things for Oswald. It almost overwhelming; Oswald had never imagined that he'd be in a relationship with someone who cared for him so thoroughly, who knew all his likes and dislikes so well, who even offered to torture and kill anyone who as much as irritated Oswald, just to see the smile on his face. 

 _"I hope you know, Oswald, I would do anything for you."_  He wasn't sure if it had been a memory or a prophecy. 

He mulled all of this over in his mind as they ate lunch one Friday afternoon, almost three months after he had first awoken at Gotham general. He was picking at some sort of pasta and seafood dish that had come with far more vegetables thank his liking, while Ed was ignoring his half-eaten French onion soup in favor of scavenging for the unwanted cherry tomatoes on Oswald's plate.

"These actually taste really fresh," said Ed, as he plopped one of the bright red fruits into his mouth, "considering the season."

"Well, I'm sure they are, but you know I don't like-"

"The texture. I know. Which is still surprising, because usually I'm the one who-"

"Mhh. You don't need to remind me, Mister 'I don't eat apple pie,'" Oswald retorted fondly. They had gotten into the habit of having conversations without even having the need to finish entire sentences.

"It's always so," Ed made a face, his freehand forming a kind of errant gesture, "soggy, for lack of a better word, and then the crust..."

Oswald didn't share the exact sentiment, but he still nodded in agreement.

They had been eating at an outdoor cafe a few blocks from city hall, with a pleasant view of the upscale shopping district that was only two blocks further east. Even though it was still slightly chill, the late afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds, creating an almost halo effect as Ed was back-lit by its gentle rays. With the taste of a warm, herbal tea still on his tongue, he savored the view.

"You know, we still have about an hour until we need to be back for that meeting," said Oswald. He had written this off as a "business lunch" even though he and Ed hadn't talked about anything remotely work-related. "Would you feel like looking around Auerbach's for a while? Just to kill some time."

Ed swiped at his already clean mouth with a cloth napkin. "The department store? Sure, if you felt like it."

"Or did you want that slice of coconut cake you were eyeing in the display case first?"

"Hmm. I'm too full, I don't think I could finish that."

"I guess I'll have to split it with you. But only because you forced my hand."

Ed shared a conspiratory smile. "Only because I forced you, of course. I'm seriously starting to think your sweet tooth has rubbed off on me--one of these days I'm going to have to hold you accountable."

Oswald resisted the urge to make some sort of dirty comeback. _What else should I be rubbing off on you instead? I'm looking forward to that lesson in accountability._ Instead he held his tongue, and called over the waiter to bring them the cake along with their check. Oswald paid for both of their meals, as usual.

Once the sweet, spongy slice of coconut cake had been thoroughly decimated by their joint efforts, it was only a short walk to the department store, and they were both glad for a chance to walk off their heavy lunch.

"Ah. Men's--upstairs," observed Oswald, reading the signage inside. Ed followed, nearly in step, as he made a bee-line to the escalators. They wandered slightly apart for a short while after that, occasionally bringing each other's attention to an interesting garment.

Oswald smiled to himself when something particular caught his eye. He took it from the rack, carrying it over to Ed and tapping him on the shoulder.  
"What do you think of this coat?"

Ed gave it a once-over, eyes practically dilating behind his glasses at the sight of checked green wool. "I think it's lovely, though, maybe, not exactly your style-"

"No, for you, silly. I'm sure it'd fit perfectly."

"Ah. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try it on..." He had a shoebox in his hand, which he set back on a shelf.  
"Did you like those shoes?"

Ed half shrugged. "Yes, but, I don't know if they would be flattering on me. Besides, they don't seem to have them in my size."

"Can I help you gentlemen at all?" asked a man who had just come around a corner.

Older, silver-haired, and dressed impeccably, Oswald assumed he occupied a higher managerial position at the department store. From the man's choice in pocket handkerchief alone, Oswald trusted him implicitly.

"Do you have these in a size 12?" Oswald asked, pointing to the shoe box Ed had put down.

"I'll check right away," said the man, before directing them to the large full-length mirror and bench outside of the dressing rooms where Ed could try on the coat in the meantime.  
Oswald sat and watched as Ed pulled on the coat over his suit, methodically buttoning the front and twisting in front of the mirror to see it from all the available angles. He smoothed his long fingers down the thick wool, almost reverently.

"I used to have a red coat that looked like this," said Ed, making eye contact with Oswald's reflection in the glass, "though not quite as nice, of course. It was my favorite coat."  
"Hopefully this will be your new favorite coat then."

Ed still looked indecisive. Oswald hoped he wasn't worrying about the price tag.

The department store employee returned to them promptly with the correct size of shoes. "You have quite fine taste, Mayor Cobblepot," he said in a low voice, not quite reaching Ed's ears, as he handed the box off to Oswald, "And not only in clothes, if you don't mind me saying so."

Oswald beamed with pride. "Not in the slightest. Thank you _very_ much for your assistance."

Ed sat down on the bench once he had left. Oswald opened the shoebox before passing off the contents to Ed, who put them after some slight hesitation.

"I don't know if they make me look too tall," said Ed, finally standing. "And I'm worried that the size of the heel makes them look almost like women's' shoes." Still, he stood in front of the mirror, shifting his weight and stretching out one leg to point the toe up experimentally.

Oswald thought the brown calfskin-leather boots looked exquisite on Ed, the clean sharp lines only extending his already striking silhouette. The thick heels of the boots were probably only an inch and a half tall, but Oswald knew that was higher than most shoes Ed regularly wore. He liked the extra flare that the metal ring and strap on the side gave them, adding to an almost western-wear look. Paired with the coat, Oswald could imagine Ed was setting out to hunt something in the wilderness.

"Ed, I think you you look...gorgeous. But it doesn't matter what I think, or what anyone else might think. What matters is how you feel in them."

Ed studied himself. _Gorgeous?_ he mouthed to himself silently, seemingly incredulous at the compliment. It didn't escape Oswald's sharp eye.

"I do...like them," Ed said finally. "I really, really like them."

"Then it's settled."

"Oswald, you didn't even look at the price!"

"I don't need to. I'd buy you all of Auerbach's if you so desired--down to the cornerstone. Now hand me the coat, so they can ring that up too. You could even wear it back to city hall if you want--we should probably head back soon anyway."

"You're buying the coat too? Oswald-"

"You like the coat don't you? I sure like it on you..."

"Well," Ed bit his lip, clearly torn. "I...have wanted another coat like the one I used to own." It sounded like he was convincing himself more than Oswald. He looked down at the boots on his feet, then back up to Oswald demurely. "Thank you." The words were tender-soft, less guarded than Ed usually was in public.

"Of course. Anything for you."

Ed bent forward to pick up the empty shoe box, giving Oswald the perfect opportunity to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"I don't think we should be doing that here," muttered Ed, pulling away suddenly.

Oswald deflated. Not another soul was even in eye shot. "Who the hell here is going to give us a hard time? The floor manager who just practically gave me a high-five for having such a handsome partner? You know what, never mind! Just put the boots back in the box so I can go pay for them."

He thought Ed might insist that they leave without the purchases, but instead he complied, wearing the coat out of the store and carrying the boots in a signature pink Auerbach's bag.

 

They didn't talk again until they had gotten back to city hall, just in time for the meeting. By the next day at least, they both seemed to have cooled off, their relationship back to its normal status quo.

They sat in bed the next evening, both reading. Oswald had forgotten the copy of E.M. Forster's _Maurice_ , in the sitting room some time ago, and Ed hadn't mentioned or moved the volume in the time since. Having casually picked it up again, Oswald was paging through it languidly, while Ed occupied himself with something presumably dry and non-fiction. Just having finished the chapter about Maurice's first tryst with the gruff yet handsome under-gamekeeper, Alec Scudder, Oswald found his attention drifting away from the novel.

"Ed..."

"Hmm?"

"Be honest. How long has it been since we...well, you know."

"Since we what?" Ed replaced the bookmark in his paperback, tentatively setting it aside.

Oswald shot him a look. "You know, the doctor did say I might not ever recover all of my memories," he said, now lazily trailing a finger up Ed's upper arm, before brushing a feather-light touch over one of his pectorals, "and that it might be beneficial to focus on creating new, positive memories."

Ed watched the single finger travel across his body, fixated by it.

Oswald raised his hand to gently cup Ed's jaw, his thumb stroking possessively at the cleft of Ed's chin. "And I think now would be a great time for us to make some of those new, positive memories, hmm?" He leaned in, hoping to make his intentions abundantly clearer.

Ed groaned as he pulled from Oswald's grasps. "Oswald-"  
"What?" Oswald interjected loudly, exasperated, "What the hell is the matter, Ed? Really, do you have some hang-up about sex that I've conveniently forgotten about, huh?"

"No! That's not...that's not it, exactly."

"You know what I think it is?" Oswald asked, not waiting for an answer, "You live in my house, you eat at my table, I'm the one who puts those designer suits on your back--you sleep beside me in my bed at night, for god's sake, but the minute I try to take it any farther you suddenly go cold fish. Maybe I knew even before, that you're not even-" his voice cracked, and he felt himself nearly blinking back tears "- _attracted_ to me...that you're in it for the money, or-or the things, or the position, or the power or whatever the hell it is you enjoy getting from me, but I don't know what I was thinking. Fooling myself into starting something like that with the likes of you."

Something like terror was frozen across Ed's face as Oswald continued his rant without so much as a pause to breathe.

"I want a real partner, not some...some...social ladder climbing rent boy!" Oswald spluttered, "Well no more, I can't do it. it's over Ed--you don't have to shoulder the burden of my unwanted, disgusting affections anymore! So, just, get out!"

They were both sitting up in bed now, Oswald's hand clenching in the bed sheets with barely tethered rage.

"Oswald," Ed pleaded, "Please, that's- that's not how it is at all! You couldn't be farther from the truth!" Plaintively, he laid a hand flat on Oswald's chest. "This is just like you to fly off the handle when you don't even have all the facts. I want to explain something but I need you to promise you won't get angry with me."

"When you say it like that I know I will be," Oswald growled in warning. 

"We weren't in a relationship before the accident!" Ed suddenly blurted out, nearly cutting him off.

It took Oswald a second to fully comprehend what he meant. Meanwhile, he saw Ed push the sheets away, trying to edge out of the bed and away from his fuming bedmate.  
Enraged, Oswald instinctively climbed onto him, putting his full weight on Ed so he wouldn't get away. Clenching Ed's undershirt in his fist, he pulled at it until their faces were inches apart. "Why the hell did you lie to me then? And let me make a goddamn fool of myself?"

"I wasn't trying to!" Ed whimpered. "At the hospital- I just thought you were asking if we w-were business partners. I didn't even realize you had misunderstood anything until we got home and, and you kissed me. And then I realized," he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing at his throat, "I realized how much I wanted you. How hard I had been trying to deny that to myself--that I was in love with you."

Oswald felt his heart pounding in his chest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was selfish! I wasn't sure if you were doing what you were doing because you really wanted to or because it was what you thought you were supposed to be doing. I kept telling myself it was okay as long as I didn't let it get too far."

"You thought I kept coming on to you because I felt obligated to?" Oswald asked incredulously. "I don't think you know me half as well as you claim."

"I-I wasn't sure how you felt about me before. There were so many times that I almost thought you were going to say...something. You would look at me, and I would feel things that almost scared me. I was starting to question everything I knew about myself. And then, suddenly, it seemed like you started avoiding spending time with me, and I thought I had done something to upset you. One night I brought it up, that I thought you were avoiding me, and we had that argument about it. You were following me up the stairs, and we were shouting at each other." He grimaced, recalling the unpleasant memory, "That's when you fell. You just tripped--on the hem of your robe, maybe--but I felt like it had been my fault. I don't know what I would have done if you had never woken up."

Still straddling Ed's middle, Oswald's grip on his shirt loosened just slightly. Suddenly, a sharp, almost-cruel bubble of laughter escaped from his lips, his expression nearing hysterical.

"And here I was, thinking you were _so_ smart! Ha! Newsflash, Ed, I've been in love with you this entire time! For as long as you've lived in the mansion...before then, even. When you were in Arkham. Maybe earlier, I can't be sure. More importantly, I trusted you! I would have done _anything_ for you these past few months. God, I would have let you bend me over every piece of furniture in the house if you had so much as asked!"

Ed let out a pained whimper, something between anguish and arousal. "I wouldn't have- I wouldn't have _ever_ taken advantage of you like that-"

Oswald was still huffing with anger, practically breathing into Ed's mouth, "I should be so fucking mad at you."

"You should be," Ed whispered, eyes gone dark and wide.

"I should never want to talk to you again."

"You're right. It's the least that I deser-"

Instead, Oswald forcefully brought their mouths together, lapping almost sloppily at Ed's mouth. It was sudden and thoughtless and it felt so _freeing_ \--the culmination of desiring and wanting and needing for far too long. The hunger to turn their longstanding imitation of love into a reality was evidently mutual; without a second of hesitation, Ed was returning the kiss with equal force.

His hands went to Oswald's back, struggling for purchase in the smooth silk there until he could pull Oswald down flush, one heaving chest against another. As Oswald's tongue pushed through the press of his lips, Ed let out a deep groan that Oswald could feel all along his own body, in tandem with something else, far more tangible, against the inside of his thigh.

Oswald pulled away slightly, making Ed crane his neck trying to chase his lips upward. "How long have you been hard?" Oswald asked.

"Probably since you started yelling at me," said Ed, so blunt that the usual filter between his brain and his mouth must have been completely out of commission.

Oswald shifted, his hip grinding encouragingly against Ed's erection. "I think you really have a problem, Ed." He traced one finger down the sharp edge of Ed's cheek, enjoying the color that flushed his face, drawing it down to the now-shiny wetness of his lips. Ed's tongue darted out to taste the pad of his finger.

"I do have a problem. And he's right on top of me."

"Oh?" Oswald watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Would you rather he was under you?"

As if Oswald had flicked some switch, Ed wrapped his legs tightly around Oswald, using his weight to flip them over onto the other half of the bed. With one hand tangling in Oswald's hair, Ed kissed the corner of his lips, moving down the jut of his chin to mouth hungrily at his neck.

"Oh... _oh_...yes, yes, yes... _finally,_ " Oswald groaned, writhing as Ed kissed and marked him, leaving a heated trail from his jaw, down his neck and to his sternum. Ed kissed him on the mouth again as he plucked at the top buttons of Oswald's pajamas.

"I don't really know what I'm-" Ed breathed in between the wanton press of their lips, "I need you to tell me what you want."

Wordlessly, Oswald took Ed's hand, dragging it down his own front until Ed could cup his already leaking shaft through his pants. "I want you to touch me. And I want to touch you. As simple as that."

Ed nodded feverishly, his hand already dipping under Oswald's waistband. "I can do that."

Soon, both of their pants were tugged down past their knees, boxers and briefs following suit as Ed rolled onto his side next to Oswald so he would have both hands at his disposal. Frantic mutual stroking and tugging soon became desperate frottage, as they both jerked and canted their hips into the tight grip Ed had around both of their cocks.

It was an embarrassingly short time until Oswald was climaxing with a violent shudder, his face buried against Ed's shoulder. " _Fuck,_ " he whined, muffled against sweat-slicked flesh. Ed wasn't far behind him, gasping into Oswald's hair as he spilled over the both of them.

Still breathing heavily, Oswald looked up to see where Ed had a sheepish smile glued to his face, the same blissed-out expression mirrored on his own.  
"Wow." Ed whispered.

Oswald rested his head on Ed's chest as they were both still catching their breath, while Ed petted idly at his hair and down the back of his neck.

"You know," murmured Oswald, "when I pictured us getting together for the first time, it never quite went like this."

"What did you picture differently?"

"Well, for one, that we would actually manage to get all of our clothes off first."

Ed laughed softly.

"But now..." said Oswald, "I wouldn't have had it any other way. There's no way I'm ever forgetting this."

Oswald expected Ed to laugh again, but instead his hand cupped Oswald's chin, guiding him into a slow, tender kiss. Oswald let himself grow lost in the sensation of it, his whole body going loose and languid in post-coital bliss. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was who he was supposed to be.

"I could really go for a cigarette right now," he murmured, when Ed finally pulled away.

Ed pouted playfully. "I don't think I'd want to kiss you any more if your mouth tasted liked an ash tray."

Oswald scoffed, gazing fondly at his partner. "Then I guess I've finally found my motivation quit."


End file.
